


four months

by whiplashlive



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Enemies to Lovers, Exes, F/M, Hate to Love, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex, Smut, Surprise Kissing, Swearing, Vaginal Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplashlive/pseuds/whiplashlive
Summary: ➷ in which you and johnny seo rediscover what it means to fall all over again during four months of your life.





	four months

**Author's Note:**

> hi this took me ages enjoy bichthes !

**september**

 

the worst part about september wasn’t that it was the month you went back to the daily grind, and it wasn’t the fact that you had to see people you hated every single day. it was the fact that september was the straddle month between summer and fall, and the weather could swing between tank top and shorts to a heavy sweater and jeans.

 

that’s how you found yourself stuck in a spaghetti strap tank top, too short for the breeze that nipped at your skin, and some jeans that had one too many rips to be considered appropriate for the clouds that threatened to pour overhead. walking the sidewalks of campus in your completely inappropriate attire for the menace of rainfall, you were attempting to hustle fast enough to the university centre where your friends awaited your presence.

 

you knew that ten and yuta would make fun of you, pointing out the obvious goosebumps on your arms, but it wasn’t your fault, you’d say. it was the weather department who didn’t forewarn you, it was the laundromat that had balled up the inside of your favourite hoodie, it was a passerby that spilled their coffee on you, anything but your fault. you would never admit to something as dumb as not reading the forecast, but in your defence, the sun had been shining full force when you had woken up two hours before your alarm was set to go.

 

despite your constant rationalization and self-validation, you had made a clothing mistake, and the chill was embedding itself in your bones, making your fine hairs stand on end. the looks you were getting from pedestrians alongside you were those of disbelief, judgment, bewilderment, and you had half a mind to stick your tongue out. _who are you looking at?_ you wanted to say. you had a permanent scowl on your face anyways, and the only thing that could possibly make your mood worse at this point would be the eruption of the grey clouds that loomed above you.

 

as you finally turned the last bend and saw the shining of the centre in front of you, you exhaled a sigh of relief, and you think it was at that point where the heavens had decided you needed to be punished for your ignorance of meteorological warnings. the rain started to come down with force, and you cursed audibly, putting a hand on your now-soaked backpack and picking up your already brisk pace.

 

you could have taken a bus. you could have called an uber. but no, you were trying to save money, you needed the physical activity, and so your feet didn’t stop their constant pace on the recently repaved sidewalk. you kept jogging until you finally reached the overhang of the university building, and the cracks of thunder overhead were enough to make you decide not to move, not to make the quick crossing to the revolving door that wasn’t covered by an awning. you were too scared that a random strike of lighting would seem to karmically find you, a final _fuck you!_ for your clothing decisions.

 

“did you read the weather forecast this morning?” a voice called out, almost drowned out by the unrelenting downpour.

 

you were one hundred percent ready to turn around, and you couldn’t believe that someone would _dare_ call you out on your clothing decision, that they didn’t see that you already regretted it. but when you looked behind you to where the voice had originated from, you had to blink once, twice, thinking that the rain must have entered your eyes and that you weren’t really speaking to _him._

 

you raised your eyebrows.

 

“does it look like i read the forecast, johnny?” you respond tartly, and johnny looks you up and down before clicking his tongue.

 

“no need to point out the obvious,” he says, and you give him a dry laugh before turning around again.

 

you hadn’t spoken to johnny seo since last december. the second, to be precise, when you two had so ungracefully split apart in a battle of words and tears and balled up fists. when everything had felt too sharp, too warm, too aggressive for your comfort, something like a heatwave. parched and drying out your relationship to the point where you had snapped apart because it was just too brittle. you hadn’t talked to him since he had left you with a burning sear alone, and you didn’t think you would ever talk to him again, that you’d ever have to entertain his conversation.

 

“how are you?” he blurts out in the tense silence.

 

“i’m cold and damp,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes and refusing to turn around despite the burning feeling his eyes left on the back of your head.

 

“do you want me to fix that, or to shut up?” he jokes, and you finally make eye contact with the taller boy who was leaned up against the tinted glass.

 

he stood there in a hoodie, the ends of his long sleeve poking out, eyebrows raised and a smile on his face. _different_ , you supposed. _more gentle,_ you supposed. his long legs were casually posed, and he looked like he could have stepped out of a fashion magazine despite the obvious preference for comfort and warmth in his outfit of the day. he had always looked that way.

 

“how could you possibly fix this?” you mimic his eyebrow raise, clenching your teeth and jaw.

 

“i could give you my sweater,” johnny says, and his hand comes up from his side to the bottom. “i planned ahead and put a long sleeve under it. i wouldn’t be cold, and i’m wearing three times more fabric than you,” he taunts.

 

“planned to give a girl the sweater off your back and make her fall for you?” you grit out, unimpressed.

 

“definitely didn’t plan it for you,” he hisses back, finally showing some of that bite he buried under thick layers of charm. “but the offer stands, because i’m a gentleman.” the charm’s back.

 

scoffing, you weigh the benefits and the cons. benefit: you’d be warm. con: you’re warm because of _him._ benefit: ten and yuta would let you off without a punch. con: you’d be let off because of _him._ benefit: you wouldn’t smell like rain. con: you’d smell like _him._ benefit: you could get inside and away from johnny faster. you liked _that_ benefit.

 

“fine,” you reluctantly say, setting down the wet bag that was uncomfortably pressed against your back and waiting for johnny to finally take off his hoodie.

 

the grey fabric comes up and over his head, and the white balenciaga long sleeve rides up as he lifts and you have to force yourself to look away from the tanned expanse of skin, up towards his head where his muss of hair disappears and then pops back out. you find yourself with his warm, slightly damp but not nearly as soaked as you were. you shoved it down on top of you, running a hand through your wet hair to try and make it seem less like you came out of a thunderstorm and more like a nice shower. you don’t think it worked.

 

“no thank you?” he says, and you give him a look out of the corner of your eye, picking up your bag, flipping the hood up and walking the short distance.

 

you hear him scoff from behind you, and you already regret the decision of taking his warm, oversized hoodie that definitely smelled like him. something like cologne and warm coffee, something that even the rain and your pure denial couldn’t mute. you pass through the revolving doors and you think you catch him out of the side of your eye walking off into the rain, but when you finally spare another glance, full on, he’s gone.

 

you find the escalator, electing to skip the stairs in the fear that your wet shoes would make you slip and fall, and that’s already happened once in this building. you’re not going to afford getting the reputation of “university fall risk”. hopping into the shiny glass pod and pressing the button for the sixth floor, you pull your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans and wipe it along the inside of johnny’s soft sweater to try and dry the beads of rain that stay on its surface. what you don’t expect is for your screen to flash with a number you recognized, a number you had deleted off of your phone nine and a half months ago.

 

**[555-555-5555]**

you don’t have to give it back.

suits you.

 

you rolled your eyes as the elevator began to climb, and you send back a quick reply.

 

**[you]**

i’m going to give it back

 

opening the messages app, you click the shortcut and add him to your contacts again. _it felt weird._

 

**[johnny seo]**

keep it as long as you want then.

 

you didn’t want his sweater. you didn’t want his piece of useless grey cloth that you didn’t want to admit wasn’t _totally_ useless. you didn’t want that reminder of him in your day to day, the print staring at you, the brand name letters forming his name when your eyes lost focus. but you also found yourself nearing the ends of your monthly funds set aside for the laundromat, and you couldn’t bear to be _that_ petty and wash it with your precious 25 cents that you could use to wash your own clothes. you tried to calculate when you renewed your budget, _two weeks?_ two weeks sounded right.

 

**[you]**

don’t count on it

i’ll have it back to you october 7th

 

**[johnny seo]**

why the 7th?

 

**[you]**

do you think i have money to wash your clothes?

i have priorities

 

you slapped a frown onto your features, staring at the oh-so-typical johnny behaviour. it wasn’t like you could describe how he acted, despite having been with him for a short while. all you knew is that johnny acted a lot like he was entitled to more information about your decisions than you were, and that hadn’t changed from before to now. same old, same old. it left a bitter residue in your heart, really, having believed for a short second with the more confident charm in his messages that he was maybe, possibly, hopefully slightly changed. if he changed, even the slightest bit, you could officially ignore the small hook in your heart when you heard his voice and saw his name, believing that _it wasn’t your john_ , it was simply johnny seo. a photography major with a dead aloe vera plant he tried to resurrect once a month.

 

you watched another blue bubble pop up onto the screen, then another, then another.

 

**[johnny seo]**

ouch.

that stings.

and i was so generous…

 

**[you]**

keep talking like that and your sweater may accidentally find itself in the dryer for an hour

 

**[johnny seo]**

you wouldn’t dare.

you know how much i paid for that sweater?

 

**[you]**

you know the price i paid to wear it?

my dignity

 

you almost didn’t catch the small smile that had climbed onto your face, the blush of your cheeks as you settled into what could be called _banter_ ** _._** with johnny seo. your _ex-boyfriend who you had gotten into a massive, friend-dividing battle with._ good thing you caught yourself before you fell, right?

 

_good thing._

 

**[you]**

anyways, the 7th. i’ll text you a place.

 

**[johnny seo]**

cool.

bye.

 

you sighed as the doors opened in front of you and the conversation ended. you scanned the cafe and lounge floor for the familiar heads of ten and yuta, and you finally caught the boys sprawled out on two of the leather couches in the back corner, yuta’s head smashed against the glass of the window. you walked towards them, and ten was the first one to see you when he went to take a sip from his tea. you gave him a wave and finally took a seat in the chair, watching yuta scrape his head up the pane where he had been laying upside down off the end of the couch. laughing, you took the mug of something that smelled rich and brown from ten’s outstretched hands and took a long sip, trying to calm the nerves talking with johnny had left buzzing.

 

“look who it is! ms. _i’ll never be late, i’m always on time_!” yuta honked out, and ten raised a hand to flick yuta’s slightly rosy cheek.

 

“says the man who had his face smashed against a pane of glass. you know how hard that will be to clean?” you retort, taking another slow drink of what you assumed was vanilla coffee.

 

yuta scoffs, running a hand through his condensation-wet hair and pursing his lips.

 

“excuse you, i only had my face absorbed into the cool feeling of the window with the rain. it’s really coming down out there,” yuta trailed off, looking to the side before slowly sliding closer to the edge of the couch.

 

ten raised his eyebrows and leaned back slowly. “looks like you got caught in it. is that a new sweater, y/n?”

 

and with that, you knew he knew.

 

you and johnny, when you had split, had unfortunately split your friends with you. he had claimed taeyong and winwin, and you had taken a clueless ten and yuta who had no idea what exactly had gone down until you had explained, very intoxicated, that johnny was a _big baby binch_ and that _you’re my little man binches now_. that was the group chat name now, and you had been so confused until they had explained what you had labeled them during your blackout.

 

you hadn’t really regretted much, in the end. you knew taeyong would always be loyal to johnny, and that winwin just wanted yuta to _get off of him_ , and you didn’t blame them. but this also meant, sadly, that ten and yuta knew everything there was to know about your ex boyfriend, from the way he stirred his noodles to his favourite brands. which you just happened to be donning during one of the worst thunderstorms of the year.

 

“you’ve never seen it before?” you sleaze out, leaning back in your chair luxuriously. “to be expected, i have an endless wardrobe.”

 

ten gives you a look, a look that means _i know you’re lying but i won’t ask any questions because you won’t give me a straight answer_ , which lead you to wondering why the expressions ten donned had always mirrored perfectly what he was thinking. you hope the look you sent back to him was _i needed this to escape a horrible thunderstorm and protect myself from your teasing_ , but you’re pretty sure it just came off as _i’m damp and i want to go home already_. which wasn’t exactly wrong.

 

“no, i haven’t seen it yet.” ten leans forward to stir his drink again, and you think you see him smile into his reflection on the liquid.

 

a smile that definitely tells you that he _had_ seen it, but not on _you_.

 

two weeks. you had to hang onto this sweater for two weeks. it wouldn’t be so bad. you’d put it under the rest of your clothes on the legendary chair of laundry you were too lazy to put away that you were 90% everyone had, simply because you couldn’t face the present reminder that you still had something of johnny’s and that he had given it to you and you had taken it willingly. no matter how much you rationalized it, you knew that it would gnaw at your head until october 7th when it would be freshly washed, johnny’s-aroma-less and out of your possession. two weeks.

 

so for now, you melted into the smooth leather of the armchair and absorbed yourself in the conversation between friends, and less about the garment you donned. conversations about yuta’s new piercing on his tongue that he had gotten only because “there was no chance of him ever making out with winwin soon so he’ll just get it now and let it heal”, ten’s truckload of cleaning advice for the boy including “no oral sex” to which yuta replied with a reluctant frown (which meant he wouldn’t listen). conversations about yuta’s psychology professor in the class he had somehow accidentally taken, to which you quipped in with a “yuta you fucking idiot”. conversations about the rain, how “the weather swings would end next month when fall finally arrived”.

 

it would all go away soon.

* * *

 

**october**

 

the beginning of fall rolled around faster than you thought it would, and you found yourself more aware of appropriate clothing decisions for daily life. as you walked down the city street, laundry basket in your hand, the crisp cool air flooded your nose with the smells of leaves and something unmistakably autumn. you welcomed it, and something felt more organic about the heart of the city than anything on campus. the well-treaded sidewalks, the graffiti that filled the alleyways, the sounds of horns, so different from the fresh paved, clean cut streets of university.

 

it was almost more serene with your earbuds in, your favourite fall playlist smoothly rolling past your eardrums and embedding into your head as you hummed softly under your breath. passing building after building, the orange of the setting sun flashed in and out of your eyes, and you enjoyed the brief glimpses of warmth on your rapidly numbing face. when the cold weather finally hit, it hit hard, but you wouldn’t love anything more than to kick the orange and brown leaves under your feet as the tip of your nose turned a flushed colour. it was fall.

 

when you came up to the front of the laundromat, you nudged the door open with your hip and entered as the little bell jingled. the sounds of the machines whirring was always so comforting, the soft jostling of fabric and soap inside the metal contraptions that hummed along the walls and floor space. the laundromat always smelled like comfort, the warm aroma of fabric softener and fleece hanging in the air. you scanned the area for an open washer and dryer, and you caught one up at the front corner beside the storefront window. setting the basket on the top of the dryer, you lifted your light load and tossed it in the washer, following with the detergent in the small cup. sliding the dollar into the machine, you slammed the cover as gently as you possibly could, turning the dials with a few clicks before the cycle started.

 

the machine came to life under your hands, and you traced the familiar scratches and dents in the white-painted pearlescent metal, smiling softly to yourself as you drummed your fingers along with the vibrations of the machine and the beat of your music. there wasn’t really much else to do, besides sit and wait and _watch_.

 

you enjoyed doing laundry, don’t get the wrong idea, but once you had the bulk of your laundry in the washer, it took over half an hour for things to finish. it wasn’t like you could leave, either, because someone would come swipe your machine and your precious clothing that you had paid for with your own money. you grabbed the handles of your basket, putting it on the ground so you could hop up on the dryer and rest your legs for the inevitable hour you would be here.

 

time didn’t pass quickly, but your data plan took a serious hit as you spent the wash cycle trying to focus your attention on whatever netflix original you had gotten peer pressured into watching by ten because _it’s just so well made_. you didn’t really enjoy the last few series he had sent you, finding them almost _too_ soapy and melodramatic for your tastes, but you weren’t going to give up yet. only because you know ten would pester you about it until you watched it to completion and had a three page analysis prepared.

 

you stretched out your legs, planting your shins on the top of the moving washer, and you felt the shakes go through your nerves straight up to your back of your neck, chills running down your body.

 

“how is that possibly comfortable?” you hear a voice say, and you dismiss it for someone speaking to someone else, not taking your eyes off of your phone.

 

next thing you know, your earbud is being ripped out, and you turn to see johnny looking down at you, a smirk on his face. he looked nice, actually put together, and you were wondering why he looked so nice coming into a cheap laundromat downtown.

 

“it’s more comfortable than standing,” you relent, rolling your eyes before pressing pause on the episode and sliding off. “where’s your laundry?”

 

he laughs, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his black wire frame glasses on his face.

 

“i don’t have any with me,” he says.

 

“then why are you here? are you stalking me?” you retort, slipping your phone and rolled up earbuds into your back pocket and checking the time on the wash. 2 minutes left.

 

“i saw you lounging from the window and i wanted to stop in, see how my _sweater_ was doing.” he raises his eyebrows and you sigh, patting the top of the washer behind you.

 

“it’s currently spinning with some soap and water. if you’re here to take it right now, you’ll have to wait 40 minutes for it to be dry.”

 

you were silently, oh-so-desperately praying for him to say he’d pick it up on the 7th, two days away, so that you could get back onto netflix and finish the episode you had wrapped yourself up in to the point where you weren’t even fully aware of johnny’s presence, three quarters of your mind debating the main character’s huge life-changing decision. your toe tapped in impatience.

 

“guess i’ll have to stay then,” he says with a shrug and a saccharine smile, and you give him a sour look that doesn’t even encompass the disappointment in your bones.

 

“then you can throw the load into the dryer.” you give him a pout and hop back up onto the top of the machines, crossing your legs and listening to the washer’s small ding to signify it’s finished its cycle.

 

“wow, so much power. you trust me with your clothes?” he prods, and you laugh quickly as he comes up and lifts the lid of the appliance.

 

“i don’t, but i don’t really want to do it and you’re already here, so…” you trail off, watching him send you a knowing smile as he pulls the load out and pops open the front load of the dryer, crouching down to where you can only see the top of his head and stuffing the wet garments in.

 

“hey, there’s my sweater,” he murmurs, shutting the door.

 

he reaches forward, nudging you to the side with his arm. you widen your eyes in shock, and as he’s leaned over you, he chuckles deeply in his chest.

 

“relax, i’m turning the timer on,” he whispers, and you hear the clicks of the knobs.

 

you think you let out a breath you had been shoving down in your lungs.

 

_you were holding your breath?_

 

“i know, but you could have just told me to move,” you snap back, trying to cover your mistakes.

 

“you look so peaceful, why would i want to do that?” he says, hands coming to rest on either side of your crossed knees as the dryer starts to jostle and you along with it. “peaceful now?”

 

“n — n — no,” you say, your jaw shaking as you wiggle to the side, trying desperately to put yourself on top of the now-finished and immobile washer.

 

you shove his arm out and johnny just laughs, standing back with his kicked arm over his mouth trying not to make a big racket in the near-empty laundromat. once you settle back onto the washer, free from the bouncing motions of the dryer that rattled your teeth, johnny settles down. he doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you, and you look down. twiddling your thumbs before looking up tended to be a habit, but when you did look up, he was still watching you with a familiar look in his eyes that you definitely remembered.

 

it made a sense of warmth and familiarity twine down your spine into the rest of your body, the warmth that you got when you finally tugged on that jacket before going outside into the fall air for a walk. the warmth of a fireplace and picking fallen leaves out of your hair. the warmth of a warm coffee and holding hands as the entire universe blends into oranges and yellows and reds in front of your eyes.

 

“stop looking at me like that,” you say.

 

“like what?”

 

“like… that.”

 

you drop your head into your hands, the cuffs of your sweater pressed against your forehead as you shook it back in forth in lamenting your _way_ with words. you don’t know if it was the night that had arrived that had drained you, you don’t know if it was the foreign universe of the laundromat when the sun had set, or if it was just johnny who left you without any words. you really prayed that it was just because you were tired and it had been a long week, not that it was because of him. something in your heart betrayed you. between the feeling of his gaze and your loss of rational behaviour, you know it was more than just exhaustion. you were getting a serious wave of deja vu and you tried to snap yourself out of it by taking the cloth of your hoodie and burying your face in it.

 

you felt a hand touch your shoulder, and you shook your head, refusing to look up at johnny who was probably killing himself laughing at you. _oh, look at her_ , he’d say. _that girl that i can still break down into pieces even though we split up._ he’d say _look at her, can’t you see it? look at the power i have._ you didn’t want to admit he was right, because he wasn’t, you were okay on your own. you didn’t miss him, you _loathed_ him, you _hated johnny seo_. you could scoff at yourself right now.

 

of course you didn’t hate him if you let him stay with you in the laundromat. if you hadn’t taken his sweater, you would believe yourself a lot more, but the gnawing voice at the back of your head told you that _maybe you didn’t want to believe yourself. maybe there’s hope for you two._

 

“looking at you like what?” johnny repeats, snapping you back to reality by shaking your shoulder gently as you stayed in your ashamed position.

 

“dunno,” you mumbled quietly against your palms.

 

“louder,” he says, and you hear the teasing lilt in his voice.

 

of course this was a game to him. everything had always been.

 

you lifted your head up, frowning and looking him directly in the eyes, ignoring the smile plastered to his face because you knew your heart would do something you didn’t approve of if you did.

 

“your face is so red,” he laughs out, moving his hand from your shoulder to your knee.

 

“stop touching me too,” you whisper harshly, trying to pull back your knee from the crossed leg position, but he refused to let go.

 

“why are you so flustered?” he says, less teasing and more… tense.

 

you didn’t like that tone of voice.

 

“i’m not,” you respond quietly.

 

“you are,” he says back.

 

“am not.”

 

“are too.”

 

“am not.”

 

“are too.”

 

“am not.”

 

“are too.”

 

“what if i was?” you say, surprising yourself.

 

“i’d ask you why,” johnny acknowledges, stunned.

 

“what if i said it was because this is like how we used to be?” you mumble.

 

johnny steps back, taking a hand off of your leg before turning around and inhaling a sigh.

 

“is there anything wrong with that?” he whispers out, low and full of something you couldn’t describe.

 

“what do you mean?” you splutter out.

 

“i mean, is there anything wrong with us being how we used to be?”

 

“johnny,” you say, eyes heeding a warning. “that’s dangerous.”

 

you shift uncomfortably, his gaze too intense for you, too appraising, too indescribable. it held things you couldn’t recognize, and that part of johnny scared you.

 

“why?” he hums, both of his hands coming to rest on your now outstretched legs, fingers wrapping around the tops of your thighs.

 

“what do you mean why?” you say incredulously. “because we’re not what we used to be anymore? that’s why?”

 

“would it be bad if we went back?” he says, and you’ve given up on trying to read him because you’re so in your own head.

 

you missed him, you decided. but not enough to fall back in his arms in a laundromat, because he _hurt_ you and you were apart for a reason. you weren’t compatible, he was artistic and free-spirited and so amicable and you were charming once in a blue moon, worried about everything around you, a little too forgetful to be considered flighty but more responsible than being neglectful. you weren’t puzzle pieces that fit together, not at all.

 

“i — i don’t know. probably,” you huff, leaning back against the wall uncomfortably to try and distance yourself.

 

“but that’s not 100% certain.”

 

you roll your eyes, but he keeps his gaze steady on you.

 

“where is this coming from? you’re the one who wanted to break everything up, anyways,” you say reluctantly, and you feel some stitches you had strung up in your heart loosen at the mention of everything, of last december, when the rift between you had stretched to the point where the compassion you had for each other had turned to venom.

 

“you say that like you didn’t want it either,” he tiptoes.

 

“there wasn’t even an us when we had split up, johnny.”

 

“i wish we had given us a shot again.”

 

“yeah, maybe then you wouldn’t be harassing me in laundro-supreme at 10 o’clock at night.”

 

he laughs, something pure and genuine and clear in the fog of this conversation, and you laugh a little bit with him.

 

then he takes a hand, wraps it under your laughing chin and pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours, and you felt something ignite in your chest that your brain told you to stop. your heart ignored it and blew on the flames until they enveloped your body whole, and you were suddenly so, so aware that his lips were softer now and maybe it was because the heat of the fire that consumed you had melted all the dry skin. you didn’t pull away, no, you let him kiss you with one hand on your leg and the other under your jaw. because it was too much like the best days of your life, the best days when he had kissed you without abandon or a second thought because he was _so into you_ and you had _adored_ it.

 

everything seemed too quiet around you when you pulled back, the soft hum of the dryer quieting down, and you wondered how long you had spent in that parallel universe where you and johnny were _something_ again and not just two people with dramatically different outlooks on life who tried to make it work but fell through. the dryer dinged out, and you jumped a bit.

 

“harassing?” johnny said slyly, and you couldn’t help but take your sights off of the slight blush on his lips.

 

“harassing,” you repeated, a small smile on your face.

  
you climbed off of the top of the washer and crouched down, popping open the door and taking everything out, throwing it aimlessly one by one into the basket. when your hands came onto johnny’s sweater, you stood up and passed it to him. he thanked you, and you almost wanted to hold onto it for longer so that you’d see him again, so that you could come back two days later with it in your hands and find some sort of closure on this whole situation, because you knew you wouldn’t think too much about what happened until you got home and then you _couldn’t_ stop thinking.

 

you picked up the basket, settling it on your hip and staring at the mussed laundry you realized you hadn’t folded in a rush to get out of here so you didn’t have to _think_ constantly and look at him, because you knew you’d be so divided and you didn’t have time to pick up the peaces, to scrape up the fallen leaves of your conscience. so you waved to him with a small goodbye, slipped past his side and rushed out, pushing open the jingling door with your back before disappearing.

 

you didn’t turn back to look at him this time, but in your escape you did hear the bell jingle behind you. you didn’t dare look back.

 

when you got back to the apartment, you dropped the basket on your kitchen floor and you fell down along with it, feeling the cool shock of the tile on the back of your neck. you took a deep breath, one, two, three, and ran your hand along your lips mindlessly.

 

against the hard flooring, you felt your phone in your back pocket vibrate, and you rolled to the side, taking it out and sitting up. you tugged out the headphones and read the messages that flashed on the screen.

 

**[ben ten]**

yuta didn’t listen to me

 

**[yutoe]**

if ten tells you i didn’t listen to him, it was because i was held at gunpoint

 

**[jisung pwark]**

mom why are ten and yuta harassing me

 

**[ben ten]**

i told jisung that yuta was nasty and to never talk to him again

 

**[yutoe]**

was it ten who told jisung i was nasty and to never talk to me again

 

**[jisung pwark]**

i’m scared

 

**[johnny seo]**

things haven’t changed, you know.

 

you ignored the whole ten, yuta and jisung discourse and pressed down on johnny’s message, opening the chat. you tapped mindlessly on the keyboard, not pressing anything as your mind reeled.

 

**[johnny seo]**

i see you leaving me on read. :P

 

**[you]**

i’m not

 

**[johnny seo]**

then why aren’t you responding?

 

persistent johnny.

 

**[you]**

because i need to think

 

**[johnny seo]**

think about what?

 

**[you]**

we’re not together, johnny

 

**[johnny seo]**

i know.

 

**[you]**

then why did you kiss me?

 

**[johnny seo]**

because i wanted to.

 

**[you]**

you didn’t think about it?

 

**[johnny seo]**

i know what i’m doing.

 

**[you]**

really? explain then, because i can’t figure anything out

i was trying not to overthink this but i can’t stop

 

**[johnny seo]**

i wanted to kiss you, so i did

 

of course he wouldn’t give you an explanation. he never did before. you huff, running a hand through your hair before staring back at the screen and throwing your phone under your fridge. it can stay there for the night. out of sight, out of mind, right?

 

johnny seo wasn’t one to give logical explanations. johnny seo wasn’t one to change, and he was wrong. things hadn’t changed, definitely not between you, because you were still as confused and torn up over everything like you used to be. unfortunately.

 

unfortunately?

* * *

 

**november**

 

as you loaded your backpack full of a change of clothes and toiletries for the night, you cursed the sky and whatever god decided today would be a good day for the most powerful meteor shower of the year. you also cursed the gods for deciding that ten, your best friend, be the one that adores the night sky with all his heart and refuse to miss the leonids.

 

that’s why your normally textbook filled bag was doubling as your overnight bag, much to your chagrin. you knew you wouldn’t need any of this, that you’d fall asleep early on the couch while ten sat on the balcony and observed the stars that fell one by one.

 

you were, however, somewhat excited for a relaxed night with your close friends. the past years, ten has invited the entire university gang and the high schoolers, everyone making their way to his apartment that was definitely too small for 19 people. after you and johnny separated… you don’t think there will ever be another night like that, wild and hectic and full of falling stars and falling hearts.

 

it was okay though. you loved ten, you loved yuta, you loved jisung and renjun and yukhei and kun and that would be enough for you. you’d been cooped up so long in your home anyways, nose buried in a reading or your head deep in an essay. relieved to take a night off, even if you’d end up trying (and failing) to pull an all-nighter, you were content.

 

as you came up to ten’s door, you pulled the key he had made for you out of your pocket and smiled at the wear and tear your hands had left on the metal. sliding it in the lock, you twisted and pushed your way in, jerking it out.

 

“i’m he—“

 

your jaw physically dropped as you stared at the crowd filling every available space in the apartment. through the glass, you saw jaehyun, taeil, and ten out on the balcony, laying out blankets and pillows. if you turned your head, chenle, jungwoo, renjun and taeyong were using ten’s favourite whirly-pop maker, the sounds of corn exploding filling the kitchen. past the kitchen, kun, jaemin, jeno, jisung and doyoung were moving a pile of bags into the back bedroom. on the floor, wrestling in front of a disgruntled winwin and mark, you saw yuta, donghyuck and yukhei. and if you looked past them, crouched over in the corner, flop of hair barely distinguishable behind ten’s obnoxiously big houseplant, was johnny. in the sweater.

 

“y/n!” you heard from the corner of the room, and you whirled your head around to catch a blur of chenle before he had his arms around you in a bear hug.

 

you laughed, a smile climbing onto your face as you can’t resist the infectious energy. you looked up from the top of chenle’s head to see taeyong wave at you, and you gave him a small smile.

 

everyone seemed to notice your presence as chenle pulled away and took your bag for you, tossing it onto the pile that doyoung and the rest had just cleared out. you realized now that chenle and his overeager housewarming antics were the cause of the pile, and you winced as doyoung, kun and jaemin simultaneously gave you a _look_. chenle barely noticed, flitting back over to the oven where taeyong was getting progressively more and more aggressive over yukhei jostling the metal popper.

 

your eyes grazed over everyone as you turned away from chenle, and you couldn’t help but lock yours with johnny, who had a string of christmas lights in one hand and the other holding a beer.

 

you still hadn’t talked to him since whatever happened in the laundromat. you had deleted his contact as soon as you had extracted your cell from below the dusty refrigerator (while silently pledging to never put anything under there again), closing your eyes and ignoring the grey bubbles that waited for you, that haunted you every night, that ghosted over your lips.

 

you turned your line of sight to see ten climbing through the window entrance to the balcony, eyes full of apologies as he watched you stare down your ex-boyfriend who he definitely didn’t know kissed you.

 

when he gets close to you, he takes an arm and drags you behind him into his bedroom which has quickly become the bag closet, shutting the door behind him. you whirl around and shove his chest, to which he responds with wide eyes and quick whispers.

 

“hey, hey, _hey,_ hear me out before you start beating me,” he asks, and you pull back, fists clenched

 

“what the hell, ten?” you say, pointing to the living room behind the closed door. “i thought this was just close friends? you didn’t tell me anything about _him_.”

 

ten grimaces. “it wasn’t part of the plan, they all just… _showed up_ and i couldn’t kick them out because they brought lights and blankets and marshmallows and started talking about how they didn’t live it up enough last year and—“

 

“shut up, ten, oh my god,” you drone, shoving your head into your palm. “i can’t stay here. it’s so awkward, it’s so bad already.”

 

ten huffs indignantly, and you roll your eyes.

 

“of course you’re staying. just… stay away from him, that’s all. there’s like 100 of us here, you just need to put 100 people between him and you. easy!” ten chirps, rushed, obviously wanting to get out of the room and back with the group.

 

“there’s 19 people, ten, and there’s no way i can get through a night without somehow colliding paths with him. that’s literally been the past two months of my life,” you groan out, and ten begins to move towards the door, still facing you.

 

“you can’t leave, end of story! just stick to someone the entire night, try and forget he’s here or at least play nice,” ten says with a too-sweet smile before twisting the knob and sliding out.

 

rejoining the party, you exit the room slightly behind ten, and the volume has somehow increased tenfold with the addition of music (space themed songs, might you add). in a breath of relief, no one had really noticed you and ten’s absence in favour of moving outside to start the night. you watched everyone slowly move out to the balcony, a terrace that definitely didn’t have enough space for all 19 of you, blankets and pillows. joining the group, you grabbed a spare blanket and pillow that were sat on ten’s couch.

 

you came up to the exit window behind jisung, who was obviously struggling with his long limbs and carrying two bowls of popcorn chenle had probably given him. once he stumbles over the brick sill, you slide out behind him, eyeing around for a spot that would be comfortable yet put you as far away as possible from johnny.

 

you catch a spot between jaehyun and jungwoo, a spare pillow and enough room for you to sit somewhat less cramped than you were expecting. however, the most notable thing about this spot was that johnny was very convieniently placed on the opposite end of the balcony. you maneuver your way over legs and arms, sorries flying from your lips as you finally plant yourself down between the two boys who were staring off up into the sky.

 

as soon as you get comfortable and lean back against ten’s floor-to-ceiling window, jaehyun turns from where he was dazed off looking and gives you a soft, dimpled smile.

 

“long time no see,” he says quietly, nudging your shoulder with his.

 

the thing about the split is that it tore a group of 19 into fragments, sections of people who wouldn’t let others go, and you unfortunately happened to be on the opposite side of the divide from jung jaehyun. he had been close to you, a friend, someone you could count on to call when you were wasted or when you needed a shoulder to cry on. even though you and jaehyun had been such good friends, confidants, you knew that his loyalty to johnny would have never faltered, even if you begged and pleaded and hoped.

 

you would be the first one to admit it was hard to talk with him, hard to look at him when there was almost a year of unwritten history about each other you two didn’t know. how was he? was he still dating that girl from a few towns over? was he still on the basketball team? was he eating well?

 

you had no idea who he was, in the end, and long time no see was an understatement. long time no see didn’t even begin to cover the distance a breakup had put between not only you and your ex, but you and your best friends.

 

looking at him felt like you were looking into a stranger’s eyes. a stranger who held back your hair once while you vomited into his sink, a stranger who taught you the right way to open a bottle of beer using a picnic table and the ball of your fist, a stranger who had been so much more than a stranger. and in that moment, you absolutely detested johnny seo for creating this impossible interpersonal distance.

 

“hey, jaehyun,” you responded finally, a small grin on your face as you adjusted your pillow behind your back. “how’s life been?”

 

“a tad more chaotic now that yukhei’s on the basketball team,” he chuckles out, and you roll your eyes, sparing a glance towards the tall freshman who was cackling at something someone had said, a big hand on chenle’s shoulder.

 

“i bet,” you agree, turning back to jaehyun. “are you still with mina?”

 

“no, that’s been over since february,” he laughs out with a tinge of surprise. “you didn’t know?”

 

you grimace. “i don’t think we’ve talked since last december.”

 

“really? it’s been that long?” he asks, eyes widening. “time really flies.”

 

you really, truly, can’t relate, because you don’t think a single week has gone by when you think about everyone, about jaehyun and taeyong and doyoung and chenle and yukhei and renjun and jeno.

 

“yeah, i guess so,” you relent, the genuine look on your face slowly morphing into the face you reserve for uncomfortable conversations with uncomfortable company.

 

“how have you been?” jaehyun questions.

 

“i could be better,” you admit, “but couldn’t everyone?”

 

“that’s very true,” he says. “anything you want to talk about?”

 

_not with a stranger._

 

“nah, it’s just school and family and money. the usual,” you excuse.

 

“nothing johnny related?”

 

as soon as his name passes by jaehyun’s lips, the hazy light of the christmas lights and the moon all snaps into focus.

 

“no,” you ease out delicately.

 

jaehyun smiles, his dimpled smile, the smile that means he knows more than he’s letting on. you wonder just exactly what johnny told him, whether this was all something carefully constructed in basic johnny fashion, whether johnny ‘just wanting to kiss you’ was more than just an impulse.

 

you decide to stand up, grabbing your pillow and blanket, smiling at jaehyun before you walk away without a word.

 

this was too much. you were surrounded by nervous fears, by the thoughts that everyone here knew more about what was going on in your own personal life than you were. you were drowning in the freezing november night air and the memories of a group of friends who _knew_ each other, who didn’t _hide_ things from each other.

 

everything was just too much, and you just ignored the looks you got from everyone (especially the high schoolers) as you slid your way off the balcony back into the warmer apartment air. you suddenly hated the sound of the group outside, of the raucous laughs and the synchronized ooohing, how you had no idea who your _best friends_ were anymore. how he was partly if not totally responsible for it.

 

you were so fucking pissed at johnny seo’s existence in your presence.

 

walking into the kitchen, you opened ten’s fridge and crouched down a bit, searching for something that wasn’t fruit juice or hard liquor. your search conveniently returned a few cans of ginger ale, and you slid one out and cracked the tab as you closed the fridge door with your hip. turning around, you looked out towards the balcony, seeing jaehyun and jungwoo discussing softly, chenle perched on yukhei’s shoulders, jaemin resting his head in jeno’s lap.

 

a fond smile crept onto your face, but your eyes refused to join your lips. _were they talking about you?_ you wondered, pinpricks of doubt climbing across your body. _were they laughing at you? were they talking about how pathetic you were? how horrible you were? were they talking about you?_

 

you wanted to go home. you wanted to leave, you wanted to forget this had ever happened, forget all the blossoms of disbelief, of distrust finding root in your brain and heart and lungs. forget how heavy your lungs felt when you looked at everyone. you knew you couldn’t go home, however, because everyone would certainly be speaking your name and that would put you at risk of losing what little you had in the social realm.

 

you decided you would just stay inside, turn on ten’s laptop and watch netflix, ignoring his search history. you’d stay in the warmth, comfortably outside of the panic area you felt when you were around all 18 of your friends. not that the distance would help, however. it would just put you farther away from johnny. that was easy enough for you to say _deal_ and move on.

 

you left the kitchen and sat your ginger ale down on the small island, grabbing ten’s macbook from where it was sitting on the coffee table. pulling it into your lap and opening the screen, you typed in his password ( _wheresmyhair10_ ) and were pleasantly surprised that he already had his netflix opened. as you scrolled slowly through feature films, you almost missed the unmistakable sound of the exit window sliding open and someone crawling through, and your eyes flicked up.

 

his hair was flopped over his eyes and he was still laughing at something someone had said, probably yukhei, his lips pulled back in a messy smile that you refused to appreciate. he turned, grin plastered on his face still, and when his eyes made contact with yours you couldn’t pull away this time. you looked at him, and you watched his smile slowly droop down, his eyes lose that jubilance, you watched him lock onto you just like you had locked onto him.

 

he walked forward slowly, not breaking eye contact with you, and he didn’t stop moving until he was seated in the armchair beside the couch you had positioned yourself on.

 

“you never responded to me,” he says simply, and you sink farther back into the couch, lips sealed.

 

johnny adjusts in the chair, leaning his head back into the palm of his hand. “did i do something?”

 

you finally break the contact, scoffing and exhaling sharply.

 

“did you do something?” you ask incredulously. “you really have the nerve to ask me that?”

 

“if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, i can never fix things, y/n,” he responds, voice straining.

 

“maybe if you didn’t just up and kiss your ex-girlfriend all of a sudden, you wouldn’t have a problem!” you exclaim, slamming ten’s laptop shut and throwing it to the side. “maybe you’re the one who needs to do some fucking explaining instead of it always being _me,_ seo.”

 

he runs a hand through his hair, dragging it back from his forehead. “i already told you why,” he says, and you drag your hand over your face.

 

“ _because you wanted to_ isn’t a good enough explanation!” you cry.

 

“why the hell not? can i not kiss you because i want to?”

 

“no, the hell you can’t!”

 

“why the hell not?”

 

“because i’m your fucking ex, johnny!”

 

your chest heaves, and you realize you both started standing at some point.

 

he walks closer to you, and you take a step back. again. again. again, until you’re pressed up to the wall and johnny’s standing in front of you, head tilted down, eyes with a fire of anger and something you don’t recognize.

 

you lift your hands from your sides and press them against his chest, shoving, but his lips are already against yours before you can get him far enough away and his hands are around your waist and back. they’re gripping you so hard, like you’re going to shove him harder, and you would if you didn’t want to live in this moment. the soft glow of the lights at the window, the background noise of conversations and laughter, of your eyes screwed shut and his lips oscillating against yours and his fingertips leaving their burning mark on your skin.

 

you feel his soft breaths against your upper lip, and you move your hands from his chest up, around his neck and you’re on the tops of your toes clasping your hands around the back of his throat. you’re holding your breath, and you feel like you’re such a damn _hypocrite,_ but you don’t care as long as you can feel like this.

 

as long as you can feel johnny under your fingers, the soft skin and short hairs on the back of his neck, the bumps of his spine, the ghost of his breath, the chap of his lips, the burn of where his hands clutched you. this time, you weren’t on fire. you were water and johnny was the never ending flame, and he needed you oh so badly to drown him, that he _wanted to drown in you and never get you out of his lungs_ , to sizzle out in smoke until you’re boiling and boiling and vaporizing.

 

but in the end, he was never ending and you would never stop flowing, flowing out through the gaps in his fingers. moving your hands back, you finally, _finally_ push him away with a wild inhale that matched the fervour in your eyes.

 

“stop doing that,” you breathe out, pushing him back again and again until you’re not pinned anymore. “stop fucking around with me. you can’t fuck around with me just because i’m _nothing_ to you anymore, because i’m _nothing_ to anyone anymore and you think you can take advantage of me. you can’t fuck around with me, fuck you. i have feelings too, you asshole.”

 

you feel tears sting your eyes and johnny tries to grab your hands that are pounding against the front of his shirt, but you throw him off and ball your fists up in the loose material of his sweater.

 

“you said you wanted me to tell you what’s wrong. _this_ is what’s wrong, _you_ are what is wrong, all you do is _confuse_ me. what the hell do you want, johnny? do you want me for one night? is that it? rebound sex?”

 

he just blinks, and you feel the tears threatening to pour down your face.

 

“do you want me to be in pain? do you want me overthinking everything, looking at my own _friends_ and wondering what they’re saying about me behind my back? _is that it?_ or do you just want some fun?” you choke out, pounding your clutched fists against his chest. “because i can assure you whatever this is for you? it’s the complete opposite for me.”

 

you let go and you can feel the clamminess of your hands, you can feel the wetness of your salty tears sinking into your face and you want nothing more than to just remove johnny seo from your blurry sight, to get out of this apartment without making more of a scene than you already have. the only thing stopping you is him, is his lack of response, a lack of closure for your ripped up heart that’s threatening to burst at the poorly-sewed seams.

 

“say something,” you exhale weakly. “say something or i leave.”

 

he looks at you.

 

his mouth stays shut.

 

you wipe your hands on the front of your shirt, run them through your hair, down your face. you give him one last look, then you walk around him and straight out the apartment door.

 

 _you didn’t even stay long enough to watch the stars fall_.

* * *

 

**december**

 

ten texts you every morning, the exact same thing.

 

**[ben ten]**

i still have your fucking bag u thot when are you picking it up

 

you respond with the exact same thing.

 

**[you]**

i’ll get around to it.

 

it’s been just over a week since the meteor shower, enough to throw you into the second day of december with grey clouds clogging up the sky and an impermeable chill in the air. you refused to go back to ten’s apartment, to look ten in the eye when you were almost certain everyone there had witnessed you and johnny fight. you also were refusing to come to terms with the fact that you left your bag there, and you had gone so far as to buy new toiletries and a new phone charger just to avoid it all.

 

today, the text was different.

 

**[ben ten]**

i don’t have your fucking bag, thot

 

**[you]**

who does then?

 

**[ben ten]**

take a guess

 

**[you]**

please don’t tell me yuta’s holding it hostage i told him i would buy him another condom

 

**[ben ten]**

what no he’s over the condom thing because you made it into a balloon

 

**[you]**

oh thank god

wait then who does?

 

**[ben ten]**

johnny stopped by yesterday and said he was going to run it over to you today bc you were gonna see each other

 

**[you]**

so you just let my ex-boyfriend take my bag

 

**[ben ten]**

well what was i supposed to do interrogate him

 

**[you]**

i’m surprised you know that word :p

 

**[ben ten]**

eat my ass susan

 

**[you]**

gladly where and when

 

**[ben ten]**

anyways, johnny has your bag

 

**[you]**

i’m not seeing him at all today

 

**[ben ten]**

idk bro!!!!

 

**[you]**

can you text him and ask him what he’s doing

 

**[ben ten]**

you text him

 

**[you]**

no

 

**[ben ten]**

why not

why am i ur slave

 

**[you]**

because i don’t want to talk to him

i’ll actually come over this aft n grab it if you get it back from him

 

**[ben ten]**

what’s in it for me

 

**[you]**

mucho love

 

**[ben ten]**

not gonna cut it

 

**[you]**

what will cut it

 

as your finger sent the text, you heard a knock at the door. dragging yourself out of bed so late felt like such a chore, the clock reading 1 pm. you really enjoyed sleeping in (which was a luxury you could barely afford during the school year) and because the sun had never come out from behind the thick grey blanket of the clouds, your body had dismissed its forced rhythm so you could sleep through.

 

you ran a hand through your hair and wiped the sleep from your eyes as you strolled out of your bedroom and down the narrow hallway of your apartment. adjusting your sleep shirt and the lopsided drawstring of your plaid pants, you looked through the peephole. johnny seo stood there, hands in pockets with your bag over his shoulders, looking side to side while rocking on his heels. he didn’t have his standard grin on his face, the upturned corners of his lips that seemed permanent. he looked serious, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen johnny seo look like that. ever.

 

apprehensive, you opened the door slightly, peeking your head through the small gap.

 

“are you here to give my bag?” you rasped out quietly, voice thick from sleep.

 

“can we talk?” he said, looking down at you with dark eyes.

 

“i’d rather not,” you choked out. “i just want my bag back.”

 

“i know you left it at ten’s for a week. you don’t need it that badly. i really need to talk to you,” he persists, a hand wrapping around the strap of the backpack protectively.

 

“can it wait?” you ask, sighing.

 

“i don’t want it to wait!” he bursts out, dragging his hands through his hair. “it’s always waiting with you. we need to talk, you and i both know that. can you please let me in?”

 

“i don’t want to let you in,” you murmur, and you can feel the week old cuts and tears in the fabric of your heart pull open just as quick as you had patched them up.

 

“please,” johnny whispered, and you could see the intensity in his eyes, the power in his gaze, you could see emotion.

 

this was real, you deduced, from the look in his eyes and the tension in the air (which you were not prepared for so fast after you had woken up). so you stepped aside, pushed open the door and let him in. he walked through the doorway, past you in the narrow hall and turned the familiar corner to your living space, a cramped couch with a desk and tv. he dropped the bag down but didn’t sit, and you tried to delay your walk as long as possible, trying to oh-so-desperately avoid what was about to happen.

 

the yelling.

 

the screaming.

 

the crying.

 

you were scared it was going to be a repeat of last time, the last time you were both in this living room standing, the last time his eyes held this intensity. exactly one year ago, december 2nd, and you were so scared the year had come full circle. that you were trapped in a never-ending loop of johnny seo and his charms, johnny seo and his kisses, johnny seo and his enigmatic, dismissal behaviour.

 

“can we talk?” he asks one more time, looking into your eyes.

 

you nod slowly, resting a hand on the top of the couch.

 

“i — i just wanted to tell you that i wanted to kiss you, that i _wanted_ to, that —“

 

“you’re still on this?” you laugh out, rolling your eyes. “i don’t care about that, johnny.”

 

“but you do care. you care because you’ve been avoiding everyone, me, everything for the past week. you care because you pushed me away, and i know you care because you’re scared,” he rambles. “i know you care, don’t give me that look like you don’t. you always did that. telling me you didn’t care when it mattered.”

 

“don’t tell me things you don’t know,” you snap back.

 

“but i _do_ know. i know you. we spent months of our lives together. i know you, i know you care, i know.”

 

“things _change_. _”_

 

“me wanting to kiss you hasn’t. i want to kiss you because i want — i want you.”

 

you take a step back, eyes widening.

 

“you _want_ me?” you gasp out. “you want me when you broke up with me? you want me when you told me that we were bad for each other, that we could never be anything more than what we were because we just couldn’t _make it work_? and now you’re here, playing with me like a moth to a flame, telling me you _want_ me? and because you want me, you can kiss me? is it me you want? or my body? because we’re sort of a package deal, johnny!”

 

“please,” he says, circling around the couch to stand in front of you.

 

you take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest.

 

“don’t talk to me like i’m the one hurting you when all you ever did was play with me.”

 

“i want your body. i want you, i want the you i fell in love with back, i want the you who kissed me a year ago back. i want that you. i want the whole you. i don’t want to dismantle you, to take you apart and pick and choose. i know i can’t do that. i want you. i just want you,” johnny says, and you feel every word chip away your wall, brick by brick.

 

“you always used to tell me you wanted the whole me, back then,” you justify. “and look where we are now.”

 

“we have time to fix things,” he says.

 

“fix what? fix the wreckage of what we used to be? what were we then, johnny?” you cry out, your hands falling into fists at your sides. “what was i to you if you want to _fix_ things now? you can’t keep playing with your idea of me. you can’t keep playing with me!”

 

he takes a step forward, you take a step backwards. a familiar rhythm.

 

“i’m not playing with you, y/n. i want you. i want to kiss you because i want you, i want all of you, i want to breathe you. i want to feel you beneath my hands, i want to smell you, i want to taste you on my tongue, i want to hear your voice say my name like it’s your last breath, i want to see you and only you.”

 

“stop saying shit like that. do you mean any of it? do you know what you’re saying, or are you just telling me what every girl wants to hear?”

 

“i know what i’m saying.”

 

“yeah, and you knew what you were saying back when you told me i was _no good_ for you. and now you want me to what, occupy your senses?”

 

“i want you back is what i’m fucking saying!”

 

both of your chests heaved, up and down, and the only sounds that filled the room were your breaths and the empty ringing of his yells. you searched your brain for an answer, something that would stop you from making a wrong decision, but you had no idea what a wrong decision was. you had no idea what the right one was.

 

you had no idea.

 

he took another step forward, and you didn’t move backwards. you didn’t break his sight until he was almost pressed up against you, cradling a hand against the back of your head.

 

“tell me if you don’t want me, and i’ll leave. tell me right now. if you don’t want me back too, i’ll leave. but if you want me, just let me kiss you. because i want all of you, and i want the real you, and i want it to be the real us.”

 

you didn’t move.

 

“tell me,” he mumbled, bringing his head closer to yours.

 

“if you don’t want me,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours and slotting to the side, the warmth of his breath across your lips.

 

“i’ll leave.” he muttered, and you didn’t budge.

 

as you exhaled, his lips connected to yours, and your nose gasped in as much air as possible as he took your head in both hands. kissing johnny was never the same. it’s always a blend of fire and water, steam and embers, molten lava and ice, and you were so thirsty for anything he could give you. his lips slowly illuminated your body, the soft heat of them pressing against yours heavier until he was all there was, until he was all you could see.

 

you kissed him back this time, your lips leading the dance until you were both churning. you prodded his bottom lip with your tongue and he accepted, and his hands slowly ventured down, down until he had them gripped around your hips and you were on the tops of your toes, wobbling as he stumbled backwards, backwards down the hallway and into your bedroom where he pushed open the door with one hand and gripped you tight with the other.

 

as you broke for a quick second, sipping in a quick breath, saliva created a bridge between you two. you quickly crossed it, reconnecting your lips and walking backwards until his knees hit the mattress and buckled. you slid onto his lap, thighs bordering his as you leaned in and kissed him with every bit of hope, every shred of you that _still loved johnny seo_ (which was a lot).

 

his back slowly reclined until it hit the unmade blankets, until you were leaned above him with your lips and torsos and hips pressed together. you moved your hands from behind his neck to his hair, running them along his scalp as your tongues danced together. when you tugged a little bit too hard on the roots of his hair, he let out a small gasp, and you broke away with wet, rosy lips.

 

“do you — do you want this?” johnny said quietly. “do you want me?”

 

you nodded, adjusting your weight to lean back onto him, and he screwed his eyes shut with a small huff of air.

 

“jesus,” he gritted out absentmindedly, sitting up to slide back on the bed against the headboard, his hands attached to your thighs.

 

he looked at you with dark eyes, dark eyes you _recognized_ from a long, long time ago, and you knew exactly how to make that tension snap.

 

you lifted your shirt, the fabric coming up and over your head until all that was left was your bare, goosebump-riddled skin. johnny’s eyes reconnected with yours briefly before dragging down, hungrily, pupils devouring every bit of your naked torso. his hands slid up your back and around, around so that his slightly rough fingers could graze your nipples softly, and that combined with the chill in the air sent shivers down your spine.

 

“i missed you,” he chokes out.

 

“i know,” you say.

 

you shrug his hands off and pull at the bottom of his long sleeve, eyes pleading for him to join you, for him to make you feel less exposed in the still air of your room. johnny leans up off of the headboard, quickly removing his shirt and tossing it off the bed into the corner of the room. he looks at you with a smile, something small, something _meaningful_ , and you lean forward to press your lips to his. it’s not perfect. it’s messy, it’s accelerating to the point where your teeth are clashing together and your tongues are fighting, but it’s _him_ and it’s _you_ and that’s all you want, in the end.

 

his hands trace the waistband of your pyjama pants, fingertips slowly inching the elastic down, leaving burning fire in their wake.

 

“can i?” he mumbles against your lips, and you nod, nose brushing his.

 

once you slide off of his lap, standing on your knees beside his laid-out form, his hands move faster. he pushes your pants and underwear down quickly, and you wiggle them off, feeling the cold air sting your body.

 

“god,” he mumbles, sitting up to nudge you down again with a shove to your lower stomach.

 

he slides onto the floor on his knees, and you lay out on the bed. he keeps a hand on your pelvis, the other sliding in between the seam of your thighs, and you nudge them open reluctantly, feeling overexposed in the quiet of your apartment. the grey light streaming from the window is too bright and too muted all at once, and you wish that something would just interrupt the weird pre-sex limbo you were in, the part where you couldn’t stop thinking about _if this was a good idea or a really bad mistake_.

 

johnny’s hand migrates from your abdomen to mirror the other one, cradling the bottom of your thighs softly. he pulls you forward, and you slide along with your bunched up blankets to the end of the bed, feeling the fabric burn your bare back. you feel his breath ghost along your core, and you spare him one glance. his eyes light up when they connect with yours, and then they disappear under eyelids as he connects his lips to your sensitive bud.

 

“fuck!” you gasp out, the shock of it shaking your body.

 

he laughs against you and you groan, his tongue languidly tracing shapes on your clitoris as he holds your thighs steady. whimpers escape your mouth, slow, quiet moans, and you throw an arm over your face to muffle them. you can feel his soft appendage darting up and down, down to your entrance for a quick sip before licking back up to your bud, and you’re already falling apart under his ministrations.

 

you don’t know how long he played with you like that, tongue tracing letters and shapes and designs up and down your centre, in and out, lips sucking, pushing you to the edge you hadn’t felt in so, so long. everything coming out of your mouth was whines, moans, whimpers of someone being burned to the quick, lit aflame with desire and pleasure.

 

and suddenly it was all gone, the warmth of his mouth drawing away from your core. the wetness clung to the cold and you shivered, shoulders convulsing as he let out a small laugh.

 

“what are you doing?” you groaned out, squirming. “jo-o-ohnny, please.”

 

as you said that, you heard the sound of a belt buckle sliding open, of leather dragging out of denim loops, hitting the hardwood floor. soon after, the sounds of jeans sliding to the floor, of pants being kicked away. you lifted your arm from where it was draped over your eyes and you looked at him, eyes fuzzy and blown out with passion.

 

he looked like a god. the clouds had darkened, leaving only a small amount of afternoon light pouring through your window, and it seemed like every ray had caught itself against one of the planes of his body. his jawline, his abdomen, his pelvic bone, the outline of his waist and hips and leg, every strand of hair, they glistened with silvery light. you couldn’t help but find yourself in awe, in awe of the man standing in front of you, and you don’t know if that’s the lust talking or your heart.

 

“can i?” he asks again, one hand reaching out to pull you into a seated position at the end of the bed.

 

you look up at him, eyes big, and you can feel his hand guiding the head of his cock towards your entrance.

 

“i need to hear you say it.”

 

“yes,” you gasp out, and with that, he slides forward, rocking his hips and cock into you slowly.

 

he hisses out a breath and you groan, arms buckling backwards at the elbow. he wraps himself around you, saving you from collapsing back to your spot on the bed, and he presses you close into him with both arms now that he was inside.

 

johnny’s hips rock slowly, and you can feel the drag of the head of his cock along your walls. it feels indulgent, it feels amazing, it feels like every nerve of your body is lit on fire every single second. it feels _perfect_. it feels so, so good, his warm chest pressed up against your face as he picks up the pace. you can feel the vibrations of his grunts against your cheek, and yours join the mix as he finally angles his hips _just right_ and hits that spot so deep inside you.

 

you feel like you’re falling apart at the seams, tears in your eyes as he fills you up again and again and again, your mouth open in a state of permanent whines and whimpers as he pistons back and forth. you’re teetering on the edge, his groans joining yours, and you can feel his thrusts become sloppier and quicker, but you need _more, more_ to launch you over the side of the cliff and into the pit of fire awaiting you.

 

“j-j-j-joh-hn-ny, p-please,” you gasp out, your hands grabbing at the sheets until they’re completely bunched up below your palms and nails.

 

“what do you want, baby?” he groans out rushedly.

 

“n-need m-m-more,” you whine, tossing your head back.

 

you can feel him lean down, bending his torso so that he can attach his lips to your throat sloppily. when he rolls his hips just at the right time, sucking down on that sweet junction in the corner of your shoulder and neck, when he lets out that whine that always meant he was _coming_ , you let go, your throat closing up in a choked moan. you can see nothing but white and red, nothing but bliss and peace and _complete adoration_ for johnny seo, who was emptying himself inside of you as you were on cloud 9.

 

when you came down, falling from that peak, your elbows gave out and your back hit the bed, bringing johnny down with you. he twists mid-air while pulling one of his arms out, flopping down beside you to your right like a starfish. you both gasp for air, wiggling your legs back onto the bed so you’re not hanging.

 

“was it always like that?” johnny exhales, and you laugh before slapping his chest.

 

“don’t think so,” you respond.

“why do you think so?” he asks, and you roll to the side to face him.

 

he’s looking at you, flat on his back with his head to the side, chest rising up and down slowly.

 

why do you think so?

 

maybe it was because it was months coming. months of your entire train of thought being consumed by him, being consumed by the idea of him, the memory of him. maybe it was because he had barged into your house and demanded you take him back. maybe it was because you realized you were still in love with johnny seo, that he was back in your life irrevocably.

 

in the end, you didn’t say anything. you just looked at him, emotions swirling inside your head as he smiled at you.

 

“what?” he said.

 

you smiled back.

 

“nothing, i need to go get cleaned up,” you said. “you really had to cum inside me?”

 

as you sit up, he laughs, folding his arms behind his head.

 

“it wasn’t like you were stopping me!” he exclaims, and you roll your eyes.

 

as your legs hit the ground, you wobble, unsteady, and you hear johnny cackle behind you.

 

“shut up!” you cry out, taking small steps around the bed to get to your connected bathroom.

 

he clicks his tongue. “ah, my effect…”

 

you groan audibly and he laughs louder. blossoming in your chest, you feel sparks of something you hadn’t felt when you weren’t with johnny. a warmth, something jubilant, something made of light and love and hope. it felt _really_ good.

 

you made it into the bathroom and closed the door behind you, going through the motions of cleaning yourself up as fast as you could before johnny fell asleep (or you did). when you had finished up, you pulled on something that you had left in the laundry basket, just a t-shirt and some shorts from a few nights ago you hadn’t taken to the laundromat.

 

walking out, johnny had put on his pants again, and he had conveniently tucked himself under the mussed covers of your bed with his back to you. you prayed he hadn’t knocked out just yet, because you wanted to clear your head before you conked out with him.

 

you stroll around the foot of the bed and crawl into your side, facing johnny who had his eyes open in little slivers.

 

“mmmm sleepy,” he murmurs, and you pout.

 

“can we talk before you fall asleep?” you ask, scooting closer to him.

 

he pulls your leg in between his, throwing an arm lazily around your waist.

 

“after,” he drawls out, and you tut, turning your back to him to slot in like a little spoon.

 

you feel safe with johnny, you decide. you feel warm, you feel like you’re at home. you decide that you could be nowhere else and feel like this. you decide that you had never stopped loving johnny, even after the fight, even after a year of distance. you decide that you forgive him, that you can forgive yourself, that nothing’s over until you have closure. this was it. he was it. it felt right.

 

when you open up, your eyes are bombarded with the small bit of light streaming through the window, illuminating the small white flakes that cascade from the dark grey clouds looming overhead.

 

“hey, johnny,” you whisper.

 

“yeah?”

 

_“it’s snowing.”_

 

_“really?”_

 

_“mmhm.”_

 

_“i like the snow.”_

 

_“i like you.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> interact with me on [tumblr](https://whiplashlive.tumblr.com)!
> 
> leave a comment and tell me what you think!


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